


When In Doubt, Never Trust a Poet

by WatchingItBurrn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Montparnasse is fed up with everyone and everything, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras has no idea what he's doing, Enjolras is basically Jehan's older brother, F/F, Fluff, Funny, Grantaire is a gay disaster, Jean Prouvaire is a sneaky little shit, Jehan is done with their friends' shit, Jehan is the best matchmaker, M/M, Matchmaking, Maybe a little angst, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Oh god the pining, Other, Pining, Pining Combeferre, Pining Courfeyrac, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Pining Jean Prouvaire, Seriously guys everyone is pining, didnt mean to do that sorry, hopefully?, pining everyone, so is gavroche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingItBurrn/pseuds/WatchingItBurrn
Summary: Jehan is absolutely done with their friends' loud pining and finally decides to do something about it.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly (Les Misérables), Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras & Jean Prouvaire, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Grantaire & Jean Prouvaire, Jean Prouvaire & Éponine Thénardier, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship, Montparnasse & Gavroche Thénardier, Montparnasse & Éponine Thénardier, Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

It was difficult to frustrate Jehan Prouvaire. They were a pretty laid-back person, incredibly easygoing for someone their age. However, now was one of those moments. One of those moments where Jehan could just _explode;_ murder everyone in the room. They took a deep breath and told themself to keep their cool. They were in public, try not to make a scene.

It was somewhat hard to concentrate on their poetry, though, with all the sexual and romantic tension clouding the room. Jehan looked around The Musain at their friends, where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were having eye sex, Enjolras and Grantaire were arguing--which only resulted in more unresolved sexual tension--Éponine was _obviously_ flirting with a terribly oblivious Cosette, Marius sat by himself at an empty table, and who even _knew_ what Bahorel and Feuilly were doing?

They focused their eyes on Courfeyrac, who had such a hungry look in his eyes that was almost enough to make Jehan pass out just by looking at it for a few seconds. Snapping their gaze over to Combeferre, Jehan noticed that the bespectacled man returned an even more raunchy stare, which the poet found surprising, given the medical student's known innocence.

Jehan could tell their face was growing abnormally red from the concerned stare they recieved from Montparnasse, who sat in the same booth, right arm around Jehan as he played a (probably violent) game on his phone. Jehan admired their friend-slash-crush-of-six-month's ability to do anything with just one hand. They caught Montparnasse's eye and looked away as quickly as possible, which _definitely_ didn't help their blushing face. To cool down, Jehan looked over to Marius, who sat alone, staring at Cosette, who was staring at Éponine. The poet couldn't help but feel bad; they knew how horrible unrequited feelings felt. 

Shaking their head, Jehan began to stare out the window, and they began to feel rather lucky, actually, that Joly and Bossuet happened to remain absent from The Cafe Musain at the moment. Jehan didn't think they could handle any more tension or dreaded _pining._

Jehan felt themself begin to cool off until the sounds of Enjolras arguing with Grantaire escalated. It was enough to send the lax poet into a murderous rage. Jehan could just snap their pen in half, and was actually considering it when Montparnasse tapped them on the shoulder, waking the poet up from their infuriated trance.

"You okay?" He mouthed silently, eyes flickering to Jehan's blank notebook and then back to their flushed face. 

"No," Jehan hissed, glaring at the wall more than at the ravenette.

"Wow, who pissed in your Froot Loops?" Montparnasse joked, but he switched off his phone and set it on the counter in front of them to give Jehan his full attention. 

Jehan didn't answer. Instead, they scanned the room one last time before shrugging Montparnasse's arm off from around their shoulders and lifting themself out of the booth. "I cant even _be_ here anymore." 

With that, they snatched up their notebook and rainbow pencil pouch and stormed out of The Musain. Montparnasse sat there incredulously for a few moments before following his friend out of the café. 

"Damn, you run fast," he panted when he'd finally caught up with Jehan, who attempted to glare at him. "Really, what's wrong, Prouv?" 

Montparnasse lit a cigarette and took a drag from it, offering it cockily to the seething redhead, which earned him an eyeroll, but Jehan accepted the cigarette nonetheless.

"It's been a long day," Jehan sighed, taking a drag and handing it back to Montparnasse, who nodded for them to continue. The poet licked their lips. "Please tell me you've noticed."

"Noticed what? That you've had a long day?" The dandy blew a rather impressive smoke ring and grinned in pride. 

"No," Jehan snorted, snatching back the cigarette. "The _pining._ "

"Oh," Montparnasse made eye contact with his friend and thought for a minute. "Engorglas and Grandpear?" 

"Enjolras and Grantaire," Jehan corrected, face reddening. "And it's not just them, it's Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Éponine and Cosette, Feuilly and Bahorel..." 

"Okay, you lost me at 'Countryhook'," Montparnasse admitted jokingly. Jehan rolled their eyes again and huffed. "Seriously, dove, if it annoys you so much, then why don't you _do_ something about it?"

"Like what?" The smaller of the two asked, and began to walk down the street. 

"I don't know, you're the hopeless romantic," the ravenette laughed, following them. Jehan blushed harder. "Besides, you know your friends better than I do."

"So... you're saying I should get them together?" Jehan cocked their head in curiosity. 

Montparnasse smirked at the obvious brightening of his friend's features, taking notice of the endearing sparkle in Jehan's eyes that appeared whenever they got excited. 

"I'm saying you should do what feels right," he said, smiling a genuine, toothy smile that made Jehan's heart race. "If you're so annoyed that you feel like setting your friends up with each other is the right choice, then you should do it." 

Jehan, feeling a sudden rush of courage, grabbed Montparnasse's hand and began to pull him in the other direction. 

"For such a small person, you're pretty strong," Montparnasse admitted, struggling to catch up with Jehan. "Where are we going, anyways?" 

"My place," they said confidently. 

"Why?" 

"I'm getting my friends together if it kills me," Jehan grumbled. Montparnasse raised an eyebrow. 

"That still doesn't explain why you're _dragging_ me down the street, Jehan," he sighed dramatically. "You're going to scuff up my boots. They're _Prada!_ "

Jehan ignored Montparnasse's last comment, exclaiming, "You're going to help me!"

"Why?" The dandy cried. "You're the 'Love Guru'!"

" _You_ gave me the idea," Jehan pointed out, grasping his companion's hand harder. "Now, who's the most frustrating?"


	2. Combeferre and Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan, along with Gavroche and Montparnasse, decides on what pairing they should start with.

“Enjolras and Grantaire,” Gavroche suggested firmly, taking a bite of his Fig Newton and getting crumbs all over the couch in Jehan’s apartment. 

“I’ll never understand how you eat those things,” Montparnasse grimaced, and Gavroche grinned, proclaiming the fig stuck in his teeth. “God, please, keep your mouth shut.” 

“That’s good,” Jehan said, ignoring Gavroche’s disgusting eating habits and leaning against the doorframe. “I was thinking Courfeyrac and Combeferre, though. Enjolras and Grantaire are going to take too long. Save the best for last, you know?” 

Gavroche nodded and Montparnasse looked utterly lost. 

“Makes sense,” Gavroche agreed, leaning back into Jehan’s couch. “Staying at Courf’s is exhausting. It’s all ‘Combeferre this’ and ‘Combeferre that’ and ‘oh, Gavroche, you shoulda seen what Combeferre was wearing today! He looked _edible_.’ He’s almost as bad as you.” 

Jehan went red and ignored Gavroche’s latter comment. Montparnasse still looked confused and uncomfortable, fiddling with the stray threads on his red-and-black plaid scarf. 

“How-How did you even _get_ here, Gav?” the poet asked, hoping to shift the attention over to the urchin. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

“Been ‘ere all day,” Gavroche admitted, taking another bite of his snack. The dandy looked ready to throw up. “Youse needs to install better locks on your doors and such. Even ‘Zelma could rob you.” 

After a rather obvious glare from Montparnasse, the street urchin cleared his throat and changed the subject back, much to the poet’s chagrin. “So ‘Ferre and Courf, eh? What’s the plan?”

_“Love can't be described._

_It has no shape, it has no form._

_Love is not an object._

_Love does not conform._

_Love enters our lives_

_The moment we are born._

_From the cradle to the grave,_

_Love's in everyone._

_Love burns like a candle_

_That sometimes flickers but never dies._

_Love may be invisible,_

_Although it's right before your eyes,_

_Love can leave you empty,_

_Love can make you whole._

_Love can make or break you,_

_Love is in your soul._

_Love is in your heart,_

_Love is in your mind._

_Love doesn't discriminate,_

_Love is always blind._

_Love is universal,_

_It encompasses the globe._

_No matter where you are,_

_Love has a language all its own._

_Love is all around you._

_There's plenty of love to spare._

_You cannot see or touch it,_

_But love is everywhere._

_Love's the greatest power,_

_And yet it is so small._

_Love's a gift from God_

_To be shared amongst us all.”_

Applause flooded the room, only feeding the tears brimming in Jehan’s eyes as they finished reading their poem. 

“My name is Jean Prouvaire,” they said into the microphone after the applause had died down. “Thank you so much.” 

After another round of cheers and applause, they fit the microphone back onto the stand and awkwardly stepped off the stage, exhaling in relief. 

Once off the stage, a tall, awkward-looking figure stood out among the rest of the audience. Combeferre stood leaning against the wall near the stage, smile widening once he caught sight of Jehan. 

“You did really well, Jehan,” the medical student said sincerely, giving the poet a friendly clap on the back, then removing his now-foggy glasses and wiping them on his sweater vest. “You brought nearly everyone to tears.” 

Jehan laughed softly and sighed, staring past Combeferre at the judge of the poetry slam, who was now announcing the finalists. Once Jehan’s name was announced, the redhead’s face lit up, and their friend drew them into a hug. 

“It really was some of your best work,” Combeferre grinned, taking notice of the poet’s reddening face. Once another round of cheering, and this time, sighs of disappointment, died down, the philosopher resumed speaking. “You wrote that poem about Montparnasse, didn’t you?” 

The poet didn’t answer, instead looking down at their feet. “Thanks for coming, ‘Ferre,” they said, hoping to change the subject. “It’s always nice to have a friend here to support me.”

“No problem, Prouv,” Combeferre replied. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, these poetry slams really are beautiful.”

Looking around at the emptying theatre, he continued: “Walk me to my car?” 

Jehan nodded, leading their friend out of the auditorium. It was hard to hide their excitement. They didn’t plan on walking Combeferre out, but it made it all the better that they could see his reaction. 

Once outside, the poet began to shiver at the cold November air nipping at their ears and nose, and they wished they had brought warmer clothing. Luckily, they lived nearby and could get there quickly after walking their friend out. 

Walking in the direction of the medical student’s car, Jehan saw Combeferre’s face twist in confusion as he caught a clear glimpse of a package, sitting proudly upon the hood of Combeferre’s navy BMW. 

Approaching the car cautiously, Combeferre reached out and delicately picked up the gift bag, then double-checked to see if he had really gone up to his car. Once he confirmed that it was in fact his car, he carefully opened the glittery, pink wrapping. 

Jehan watched as their friend removed a card that held nothing but a cursive C and a heart. While the medical student continued to remove the tissue paper from the gift bag, the poet looked around the vacant parking lot, spotting Gavroche snickering from behind a shrub. Once he caught Jehan’s eye, he gave the poet his signature shit-eating grin and big thumbs up, and the redhead fought a giggle. 

Their attention returned to Combeferre once he let out a gasp. In his hands was a framed moth, the species engraved on a golden plaque on the frame. 

“This must’ve cost a fortune,” he murmured to no one, turning the frame over in his hand. “Who’s it from?”

“There was a C on the notecard,” Jehan stated the obvious. “Whose name starts with a C?”

“Mine does,” Combeferre said, adjusting his glasses. “Isn’t it just addressed to me?”

“Or Courfeyrac,” Jehan supplied, nudging their friend.

“Perhaps,” the medical student muttered. “I don’t think so, though.” 

He carefully placed the moth and notecard back into the bag, swinging open the front door of his car and placing it in the passenger seat. “It really is beautiful,” he continued. “I’ll have to find a place to hang it.” 

Jehan nodded, smiling softly, and bidding their friend farewell: “Well, it’s getting late,” they said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Coffee?”

“But of course,” said Combeferre, returning the smile and getting into his car. “Goodnight, Jehan.” 

“Goodnight.” Jehan stepped aside and watched as their friend drove away. Once Combeferre was out of eyeshot, he approached the bush he previously saw Gavroche in. 

“Gav, you can come out now,” they whispered, fishing their wallet out of their hideous floral jeans. “He’s gone.” 

“Thank Christ,” Gavroche said, standing up and untangling a branch from his dirty blond curls. “Took ya long enough. I been waitin’ for hours.” 

Jehan laughed quietly and handed his little friend a twenty pound note, only for the urchin to push their hand away. “Don’t need the money,” said Gavroche. “I’m gettin’ reward enough, once this pinin’ gets done.” 

“Alright,” said Jehan, putting the note back into their wallet. 

“Wait,” Gavroche exclaimed. “I could use a little money, actually. And change your pants. They’re makin’ my eyes bleed.”

He snatched the money out of Jehan’s hand and scampered away into the darkness, leaving the poet alone in the parking lot of the auditorium. 

Jehan pulled their floral scarf up over their ears and set off into the night to their flat complex, but stopped when they heard their name being called out. 

“Jehan,” the voice yelled, out of breath. The poet recognized it instantly, their heart racing in their chest. “Jehan!” 

The poet stopped at the sign of their name, looking around the street, only a couple feet from their flat. They caught a glimpse of Montparnasse running up to them, panting. 

“Montparnasse,” Jehan smiled, once the dandy came close. 

“You did really good, dove,” he smirked, pulling a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back. “Congratulations.” 

Jehan flushed at the nickname their friend had given them, and accepted the flowers with a smile. “Peonies, my favorite,” they said, bringing the peonies up to smell them. They looked back up at Montparnasse. “How’d you know?” 

“Eponine told me about your poetry slam,” Montparnasse admitted with a shrug. “Gavroche suggested the flowers. I meant to give them to you before the show, but I got there late.” 

“You’ve never come before,” Jehan stated, confused. 

“That’s what you think,” Montparnasse whispered, unaware that Jehan could hear him, and smirked again. “Enjoy your flowers.” 

Just like that, the dandy turned and disappeared into the night, leaving the poet, flushed and grinning like a fool, on the front step of the apartment complex. 

The next day, Jehan sat in The Cafe Musain, Enjolras on their left side. The blond took notice of Jehan’s fidgeting and once again blank notebook. 

“You look stressed,” Enjolras stated, turning to face Jehan in his chair. “What’s on your mind, J?” 

“Nothing,” Jehan lied, and pretended to write something on their notebook, slamming it shut and setting it on the table. “I’m fine.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Enjolras said firmly. “You’re not good at it. I know there’s something, what is it?” 

“Just, you know, Montparnasse,” Jehan looked down and played with the cord of their bright pink sweatpants. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the main stressor at the moment. 

The blond’s face turned a bright red in anger. “What’d he do? Did he hurt you? I swear, if he did anything to make you uncomfortable or unhappy, I’ll kill him. I’ll make him hurt so much he’ll wish he was never born. I’ll rip out his small intestine and jump-rope with it. I’ll--” 

“He didn’t do anything, Enj,” Jehan sighed, slumping down in their seat. “It’s just my feelings. You needn’t worry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras frowned. “I just… I don’t like him. You know that. You know I think you can do way better than a criminal like that, that you deserve better. He’s only going to hurt you.” 

“I don’t care what you think,” the poet said, instantly regretting the harsh tone they unintentionally took on. “He might seem like just a criminal to you, but he’s so much more than that. He’s loving and caring, and-”

The door opened loudly, accompanied by the jingling sound of a bell, and Combeferre hurriedly stepped in from the cold, catching both Enjolras’ and Jehan’s attention, quickly rushing over to where they sat. 

“Hey, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras greeted subtly, and Jehan followed with a smile and silent wave as the medical student pulled a chair up and sat down. 

“There was another one,” Combeferre whispered so only the three of them could hear. Jehan’s face lit up in a bright smile and Enjolras’ twisted with confusion. 

“What?” 

“You haven’t told him?” The bespectacled man asked, and Jehan shook their head.

Neither Jehan nor Enjolras had noticed the bag Combeferre had brought into the cafe until he set it on top of the table. Unwrapping the bag once again, the medical student revealed yet another pink notecard with a cursive C on it, and instead of a framed moth, this time, a book on hieroglyphics sat within the gift wrap. 

“What’s this?” the blond asked, gesturing to the ensemble. 

“For the past few days, I’ve been receiving packages-” Combeferre started until the poet took over for him. 

“Good ol’ ‘Ferre here has a secret admirer,” they snickered, shoving their friend playfully, and Enjolras smiled genuinely, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Interesting,” said the blond, taking notice of the devilish glint in Jehan’s eye. 

“I’m going insane,” Combeferre said. “I can’t figure out who this is. I have a whole pinboard of ideas, but none of them… fit.” 

“I know who it is,” Jehan announced, smiling.

“If you say ‘Courfeyrac’ again, I’m going to hurt you,” the medical student deadpanned. 

“Be real, Combeferre,” Enjolras piped up. “I barely know what’s going on, but this is definitely the type of thing Courfeyrac would do.” 

“You really think so?” Combeferre beamed, adjusting his glasses.

“I know so,” Enjolras and Jehan said at the same time. 

  
  
  


“Goddammit,” Bahorel cursed as he rolled a gutterball. Jehan giggled as the screen above him showcased that it was now their turn. 

They stepped up to the alley and rolled their ball, knocking down every pin. 

“What’s up, Jehan?” Bahorel asked, once the poet went to sit down. “I haven’t really _talked_ to you in awhile. Make any progress?”

“Progress?” Jehan asked, trying to play dumb, even though they knew what Bahorel was referring to. 

“You know, with Montparnasse.”

Jehan shook their head softly, trying to hide their bright red face, and failing. “How’d you know about that?” 

“Jesus, Prouvaire,” Bahorel laughed. “Everyone knows. You’re not good at hiding it.” 

“Make any progress with Feuilly?” Jehan mocked, and Bahorel had the same reaction, only a little more dramatic. “Everyone knows. You’re not good at hiding it.” 

“That pasty little shit is the most oblivious person I’ve ever met…” Bahorel scratched the back of his neck. 

“Yes, because shoving them into a washing machine is the most obvious sign of affection.” 

“Shut up.” 

  
  
  


“I can’t believe he’s got a ‘ _secret admirer,’”_ Courfeyrac said the last part mockingly, furiously pacing back and forth in Jehan’s apartment.

“You jealous?” Jehan asked, raising their eyebrows.

“Of course I’m fucking _jealous_!” the drama queen threw up his arms in anger, dark curls bouncing, which made him appear much less threatening. “I should be the person showering him in gifts, drowning him in affection. The thought of someone else doing it makes me sick…”

“Well, what’s stopping you?” 

“What?”  
  
“What’s stopping you from giving him gifts yourself?” 

“I don’t know, Jehan. He seems hopelessly enamoured in this person. I don’t want to stress him out or anything, or make him feel like he has to choose between the two. Besides, what if he knows they’re from me?” 

“He already thinks they’re from you,” the poet pointed out.

_“What?”_

“The gifts. He thinks you’re his secret admirer.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jehan lied. “But you have to admit this is totally something you’d do. You know him better than the rest of us combined. You know what sorts of presents he’d like and you’re the one who successfully weaseled your way into his heart.” 

“So, you’re saying…” Courfeyrac trailed off, voice hoarse, and ran a hand through his curls. 

“Yes,” Jehan answered honestly, sitting criss-cross on their couch.

“Oh, my God,” he said, leaning against the wall and dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “I think I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Jehan chuckled, resting their feet on the coffee table in front of them, staring dreamily at the peonies sat upon it. 

“They’re pretty,” Courfeyrac noted once he calmed down, nodding towards the flowers. “Where’d you get ‘em?” 

“Montparnasse,” Jehan sighed, smiling softly. 

“Ooh,” Courfeyrac taunted, goofily grinning. “Guess Ferre’s not the only one with an admirer.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Jehan giggled. “Let’s watch a movie.” 

  
  
  


Jehan and Montparnasse sat quietly in a booth in the corner of the Musain, Jehan’s legs draped over the dandy’s thighs. Once again, he was on his phone while his companion wrote poetry. Every once in a while, the poet would show Montparnasse for his approval, always enthusiastic. 

On the other side of the booth, Gavroche was devouring a rather large slice of cheesecake, pausing every few minutes to glance, disgusted, at the not-couple sitting in front of him. 

For the second time that week, a disheveled-looking Combeferre rushed into the cafe, this time followed by a stressed Courfeyrac. They exchanged a few words before Courfeyrac hurried over to the counter to order their drinks, and the medical student ran over to where Jehan still sat. 

“Another one came!” He cheered, flashing a box wrapped in pink and purple-striped, glittery wrapping paper, not yet opened. 

Jehan, confused, flashed him a smile and watched him hurry back over to the brunet. 

They turned to Gavroche. “Did you send that? I don’t remember that.” 

The urchin, mouth full of cake, shook his head. “No,” he said, and when the poet raised a suspicious eyebrow, continued. “I swear on ‘Ponine’s life, I didn’t.” 

Jehan smirked in the direction of the two men, now sat at a table, chatting and drinking their lattes. They watched as Combeferre opened the package and beamed as he pulled out a navy sweater vest and box of M&Ms, the medical student’s favorite candy. 

Jehan noticed Courfeyrac’s attempt to hide his smirk behind his coffee cup, and for the first time, thought that their plan might actually work.

  
  
  


The poet watched as Musichetta and Eponine walked back with a sweaty, tired Azelma after her soccer game. 

“Thanks for coming, Prouv,” Eponine smiled down at them. “‘Zelma really likes it when ‘Chetta and I aren’t the only ones coming to her games.” 

“It’s no problem,” Jehan returned the smile. “Azelma’s a talented girl. She’s really going places.” 

“I agree,” Musichetta said as Eponine led her little sister back to the car. “I’ve never really enjoyed soccer until this little stinker came along.” 

Eponine laughed, shutting Azelma in the passenger seat. “Me, too. I really enjoyed spending time with you two today. I haven’t heard much from you recently. How are the boys, ‘Chetta?” 

“They’re good. I think Bossuet’s broken his leg, though. Fallen down the stairs again.” 

Both Eponine and Jehan frowned. “That sucks,” Eponine said, and Jehan agreed. “Hope he gets better quickly.” The poet nodded in agreement. 

“Same,” Musichetta said, shrugging. “Typical Bossuet, though. He’ll get better.”

“Of course,” The lighter-skinned girl said. “Send him my luck. I’ve got to get Azelma home, but if you two want to get together later for a girls’ day?” 

“Hell yeah,” Jehan and Musichetta said in unison.

  
  
  


Later on, the trio were spent out after going on a rather vicious shopping spree, lugging several bags of clothing with them everywhere. 

“Oh, honey,” Musichetta had said. “You can’t wear that. Pink and orange _totally_ clash.”

Afterwards, they got their nails done, and Jehan patiently listened to Eponine’s rants about Cosette, which gave them perfect time for brainstorming...

“I don’t think it’s Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said, setting the book he was reading down on Jehan’s couch. 

These words caused the poet to sit up straight in alarm. “What? Why not?” 

“He was with me when I discovered the last package,” he sighed. “And he looked really… surprised? Shocked? I don’t know how to describe it, but it wasn’t the kind of reaction a guilty party would exhibit.” 

“He took acting classes last summer,” Jehan pointed out. “He’s good at hiding that sort of thing. It’s totally him, I promise.” 

“If you’re really sure,” Combeferre pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sure.” 

  
  
  


After receiving a text that Combeferre got another package from his “secret” admirer, Jehan felt satisfied, leaning against Montparnasse on the couch as they watched _Dead Poets Society._

“Was that from Comfybear?” the dandy asked, reaching for a handful of popcorn. 

“Yes, it was _Combeferre_ ,” the redhead laughed at Montparnasse’s constant butchering of his friends’ names. 

“Oh. How’s that going?” 

“Ugh, I’m so close, Mont,” Jehan groaned, dramatically throwing themself over their friend’s lap, smiling up at him. “Courf’s actually sending him gifts now.” 

The dandy snickered, freeing Jehan’s hair from its braid and running his fingers through the ginger locks. “That’s great, dove. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too. Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“Sparking this idea. And helping, kind of.” 

The dandy laughed, helping Jehan to sit up, but they stumbled onto his chest instead. Panicking, the poet awkwardly pulled their friend into a hug, burying their nose in his black curls. Jehan felt more relaxed than ever in Montparnasse’s arms. They could die happy right now, they decided.

Once they pulled back, Jehan stared softly into Montparnasse’s deep green eyes. “Thank you,” they whispered again. 

Jean Prouvaire watched dreamily as Montparnasse ordered his coffee and sat on the other side of the cafe, unaware of Jehan and Marius’ presence. 

“You two make a cute couple,” Marius admitted. “I mean, I didn’t really _understand_ it at first, but opposites attract, I guess. He treats you well, huh?”

“We’re-We’re not dating,” Jehan spluttered, caught off-guard. “He’s just my friend.”

“Are you sure?” 

Jehan hesitated. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“What have I done?” Jehan sighed aloud, shutting the door to their apartment and leaning against it. 

“What ‘appened?” Gavroche asked, sitting on the kitchen counter. The poet jumped. 

“Jesus, Gavroche, warn me before you talk,” they said. “You scared the crap out of me…” 

“Sorry,” Gavroche said, unapologetically. “Seriously, what happened?” 

“The pining,” Jehan groaned. “It’s worse.”

“Don’t you worry,” the blond grinned. “It’ll be over soon. Courf kissed his cheek today.” 

“He _what_?” Jehan’s jaw dropped to the floor. 

“Yuh.” 

  
  


Jehan and Enjolras watched from around the corner outside the cafe as as Courfeyrac walked up to Combeferre, an awkwardness in his air like he had planned what he was going to say. 

“Jehan,” Enjolras whispered over their shoulder.

“Hm?”  
  
“I know you sent those first few gifts.”

“You do, do you? Who told you?”  
  
“No one had to tell me,” Enjolras laughed. “I just knew.”

The poet scoffed and rolled their eyes. The blond continued, blue eyes shining. “In all honesty, I really appreciate it. Combeferre was getting intolerable. If this really fixes anything, I seriously owe you.” 

“Thanks, Enj,” Jehan smiled, then pointed in the direction of Courfeyrac. “Look, he’s gonna talk to him.”

Neither of them could understand what Courfeyrac was saying exactly, but could tell that he looked like he was about to start crying, and his voice broke every so often. The look on Combeferre’s face was blank until Courfeyrac stopped chattering, looking expectantly up at the bespectacled man. 

Enjolras and Jehan exchanged a glance and looked back. Combeferre’s face still held little to no emotion, and Courfeyrac looked absolutely distraught until the medical student suddenly grabbed him by the collar, pulled him onto the tips of his toes, and crashed their lips together. 

“Gross,” Enjolras whispered, shielding Jehan’s eyes from the scene that was going on in front of them with his right hand. 

“I think it’s cute,” Jehan pouted, attempting to move the blond’s hand and ultimately failing. 

“It’s disgusting,” Enjolras shot back. “Look, he’s practically eating Courf’s face.” 

“I-I can’t exactly _see_ , Enjy.” 

“Good.”

"Combeferre's been acting different," Cosette said over a cup of coffee, sat on a stool in Jehan's kitchen. "Do you know what's going on?"

"I think I just got him with Courf," Jehan grinned proudly, pouring themself a cup of coffee, as well. 

"Oh, my goodness," Cosette gasped, spilling coffee on her baby blue blouse, but she ignored it. "Tell me more right now!"

"Calm down," Jehan giggled, and went to fetch their friend a napkin to clean up the stain. "You know the gifts Combeferre's been recieving?"

"No."

The poet laughed, and explained. "Gavroche and I sent Combeferre anonymous gifts that were assumed to be from Courfeyrac, which was our goal. Eventually, Courf picked up on it and got _really_ jealous, so he started sending 'Ferre gifts, too. I think he came clean today, and Enjolras and I saw them kiss!" 

"No way," Cosette lifted a hand to her open mouth. "Are they dating now?" 

"I don't know yet," Jehan admitted. "But I sure hope so."

"Me, too," said Cosette. "You did us all a great favor. Thanks, Jehan."

Jehan only smiled in response.

After talking to Combeferre about the events of the afternoon, Jehan had now confirmed that the two had a date the following day, and were unofficial boyfriends. Feeling satisfied, Enjolras and Jehan walked back to the latter’s flat to celebrate, but were stopped when the poet felt a tap on their shoulder. 

They turned around to see a grinning Montparnasse holding a bouquet of pink, red and white camellias. 

“Gavroche told me about your success,” he said, offering the poet the flowers, and they accepted them with a ‘thank you’ and coy smile. “Congratulations.” 

Jehan’s face lit up as Montparnasse lifted them and twirled them around, unaware of the glare the dandy shared with Enjolras. 

“Gross,” Enjolras muttered, taking a sip of his vanilla latte. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem used in Jehan's poetry slam was not written by me. It was written by John. P Read: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/loves-a-gift-from-god
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want more, like updates and shitposts, please follow me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cyanidemuffins


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